


Integration Part II

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [27]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is the right word at the right moment, and thousands of years of truths can be undone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Integration Part II

**Author's Note:**

> BetaBetaBeta: TY to Norcumi, Writestufflee, Lauranna, Merry Amelie  
> ____
> 
> School approaches! School! School! DOOOOOOOOOOOM!

It was beyond odd when Kenobi began joining the Shadows in the commissary for late meal. They were all used to their strange teacher keeping to himself.

He sat alone at a table near the door, his back to the wall. Herssella observed him reading from the silver rod-comm, unrolled into flexpad form, but more often she glanced up from her meal to find him studying those Shadows who were not looking at him in return. She knew his gaze discomfited her brethren, but Herssella was not bothered by the yellow glow. Many Rishii had such eyes. It was his aura that caused her intense disquiet.

That first day, Herssella was unable to settle her ridge feathers until he had gone, and she was ashamed of herself. Once the distraction of his dark presence eased, Herssella recognized that Master Kenobi had been making himself available to his students—the commissary was a far less stressful place to speak than their classroom.

By the third day, during midday meal, the first of the Shadows took advantage of Kenobi’s attendance to speak to him at length in a low voice. Herssella did not think it was a dire conversation. Gyre’s jowls were flapping as he spoke, hands waving in the air. Kenobi gave simple, succinct responses, but it seemed to be what Gyre was looking for. He left the table with a satisfied air.

Herssella poked at her meat with less interest. She wished to speak with Kenobi, also, but her questions seemed…rude. He might not be offended, but she didn’t know if her queries were truly related to their training.

She managed to maintain this attitude for several days before curiosity drove her towards his chosen table. Fieff was the one who called Kenobi the Not-Sith, and Herssella found the term accurate. She would not, however, call him by the Sith name that Sidious had given him. Herssella did not think it was necessary to continue Sidious’s cruelty.

“They are not rude questions,” Venge said, looking up from his flexpad. “They are thoughtful.”

Herssella felt her ridge crest try to rise, and clacked her beak until her shafts obeyed her. “They seem…unnecessary.”

“But you would learn more about your enemy by asking them,” Venge countered.

Herssella hopped up into the available chair, her talons gouging the wood. Nothing in the Cathedral had been designed for Rishii, and the unintended damage of her presence was starting to become obvious. “Do I even need to ask, then?” She flexed her talons, irritated. “You seem to know all of my thoughts already. Are you reading our minds?”

Venge allowed the flexpad to roll back up into the rod. “Not deliberately. On several occasions, I have not been able to avoid picking up on certain thoughts and perceptions…from _all_ of you. You have been fretting over your concerns for long enough that the gist of what you desired to know leaked through. However, I still think you should ask. The words you use might change the nature of my answer.”

Herssella felt her eyes widen. Unintentional telepathic reception, without filter, did not seem pleasant.

She was not fool enough to let such concerns distract her from her goal, now that permission was freely given. “Why does Sidious fear death?”

Venge tilted his head. “Hmm. Not what I thought you would lead with. Call the others over here, please. I think this is a discussion that they all should hear.”

Herssella considered it undignified to shout indoors, when combat was not upon them. Instead, she hopped down from her chair and made a trip through the commissary, gathering up her fellow Shadows and bringing them back to Venge’s table. They stood in a loose semi-circle, which made Venge’s eyes narrow until Tachi had the good sense to shove Dravaco several steps to the left. Once the path to the door was clear, Venge relaxed.

“Herssella asked me an interesting question: ‘Why does Sidious fear death?’”

“Maybe he thinks he’ll be eaten in the afterlife,” Vos said. It had the tone of jest, but Herssella thought Vos might be hoping for exactly that.

Venge appeared to be thinking about it. “The Sith would prefer such a thing, compared to what they actually believe. They think that death is the Void, a place of nothingness, where they will be forced to spend all eternity.”

“Those who die in Darkness do not get _any_ sort of afterlife—at least according to what we have been taught,” Grierseer said. “Don’t give me that look, Skaalka. I am capable of recognizing that we’ve probably been handed a lot of misconceptions from the crèche onward.”

Skaalka chuckled. “Recognition is good start.”

“You have all heard the name Xanatos, yes?” Venge asked. When there was group assent, he said, “I have spoken to him several times, post-mortem. Not since my timeline reset itself, but he acted as my anchor during the latter half of my stay with Sidious. I would say that there is strong evidence that Darkened souls do not simply disintegrate upon death.”

“It intrigues me that the Sith do not have some grand idea of a rewarding afterlife,” Kurri said in a musing tone, “especially given the legends that speak of the Sith tendency towards arrogance. The two concepts don’t align.”

Venge pressed his hands together, letting them rest upon the tabletop. Herssella noted the scars on the back of his left hand, and wondered what had caused them. “The old Sith legends, the ones that begin before the time of the Great Hyperspace War, speak of a Sith who died after suffering a mundane form of electrocution. A trusted companion resuscitated him. This ancient Sith awoke in terror, saying that he had seen what awaited them all upon dying, and it was unending gray. Unending _nothing._ ”

“And thus the Sith started to build their tombs.” Herssella allowed her head to settle onto her breastbone, contentment rising as she recognized the validity of her query. “It is not just Sidious who fears death, but all Sith.”

Venge inclined his head in recognition of her words. “The Sith who have built their tombs, their anchor points, remain aware of the Void. They fear to look beyond it, as they believe it would confirm their fears to be valid. Those few Sith who have left their tombs to venture beyond the Void never return, increasing the terror of those who remain.”

“But this Void you speak of is the Force,” Dravaco said, brow furrowing. “Is it not? If a Sith has gone beyond the edge of this Void, I imagine their consciousness dispersed into the Force.”

“The Void is not a void at all. It is…the gray place,” Venge said, and then grimaced. “I know; it is not a very good description. I have been there twice now, and that is…that is what that place _is._ It is a gray place between life and the afterlife. It is the bridge to what lies beyond. The Sith do not cross that bridge, and thus think that the bridge is the only thing to be experienced.”

“What lies beyond?” Grierseer asked in a hushed voice.

“I am given to understand that it is…quite a lot.” Venge hesitated. “I do not have personal experience beyond the first layer that exists beyond the gray place. I had a Padawan to look after.”

Venge held up a hand before the next question could be asked. “Before we wander too far from the point, here is where we enter into truths that terrify me.” His eyes flickered over those assembled. “Do you not see the similarity between current Jedi beliefs of the afterlife, and those of the Sith?”

“The veil that we were told of,” Breegin whispered. “Force.”

“It is the Jedi way to make our peace with fate,” Greegor continued.

“Nnnnooo, nope. I’m not getting it,” Gyre admitted. “More esoterics, again. Can someone explain this in simpler terms?”

“Once upon a time, the Jedi knew that there was consciousness beyond death,” Venge said, speaking in a soft voice that nonetheless captured their collective attention. “Those Jedi who had become true Masters of the Force would often discorporate upon dying, negating the need for a pyre. It was also common for Jedi spirits to appear to and communicate with the living, often passing on advice, or giving direction to those who direly needed it.”

“Like the old legends, the stories that are only considered fanciful crèche tales now,” Tachi said.

Venge nodded in agreement. “As near as we have been able to piece together, it was only within the last millennia that the Jedi view of the afterlife shifted to what you know today. This coincides with the rise of the line of Bane, and possibly with the construction of the Sith veil over Coruscant. The Sith and the Jedi views of death became flip sides of the same coin. The idea differs only by way of our philosophies.”

“Now I understand why you find it terrifying.” Fa’an’s eyes were wide, her pupils narrowed to tiny slits. “That implies that the Sith had a direct influence over the social progression of the Jedi Order.”

“That is because they _did_ have a direct influence,” Venge said. “I mention this often, and you have not believed me, so listen to me now. The Sith of Bane’s line often infiltrated the Temple, hiding in plain sight among tens of thousands of Force-sensitive beings. In those days, a cloak, a lightsaber, and a disguised aura were all it would take to be temporarily accepted as a Jedi. There were so many faces, so many students, Knights, and Masters, that it was impossible to be familiar with them all.”

“How did you die? I have to admit I’m curious,” Fa’an said, after nodding in acknowledgement of what Venge had said.

“Heart failure,” Venge answered, and then paused. “At least, I believe so.”

“Why wouldn’t you know?” Fieff asked. “Seems like you’d know the cause of your own death, given that whole Force ghost bit you said you’ve done.”

“A moment later, it would have been death via lightsaber bisection at chest level,” Venge replied, his lips quirking into a wry smile that Herssella did not understand at all. “As I did not feel any pain, I assume the heart failure killed me before the lightsaber did.” His eyes went distant; the smile grew wider. “I discorporated upon dying. Oh, did that infuriate Vader, who was left with no trophy to present to his Emperor.”

“Your own _student_ killed you,” Dravaco repeated in horrified disbelief.

“No,” Venge said, and shook his head. “Sidious had all but ensured my early death, nearly two decades before. Vader sped up the process by a month, at most.”

“He still tried to _slice you in half_ ,” Fa’an emphasized, outraged.

Venge didn’t seem concerned. “You must remember: At that moment in time, Anakin Skywalker was no more than a cocooned aspect buried deep within Darth Vader’s mind. Sidious’s apprentice did his best to kill me—that is true. However, it was Anakin Skywalker who saved my life years before. This meant he had also sacrificed any chance of regaining his own autonomy from Sidious. The effort to restore his psyche to act in such a fashion was too great a strain, and thus the fracture of his mind took far longer to heal.”

“Skywalker managed to pull his own head together long enough to send Kenobi away from Sidious’s underground citadel,” Vos told them. He was standing with his arms crossed, his expression almost a mirror of their instructor’s. Humanoids were a strange lot. “Otherwise, I doubt we would currently have the pleasure of our favorite Not-Sith’s company.”

“I’m still stuck on the discorporation,” Gyre said. “My grasp of cellular biology, and, oh, _physics_ , say that it shouldn’t be possible.”

“The metaphysical often breaks the laws of the physical,” Venge returned. “It is not actually all that difficult to discorporate. Those lessons were once a required part of a Knight’s path towards becoming a recognized Master.”

“Are you going to teach us that, too?” Fa’an asked, her hands resting comfortably on her hips. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that level of study, and that is bearing in mind that you are teaching us blatant insanity on a regular basis.”

“Ask me again when Fire is done,” Venge said, which was…strangely reassuring, Herssella thought. She knew the Healers worried that Fire would end his life, succeeding where the Sith on Naboo had not.

“I will ask,” Herssella said, noting the quick flare of surprise in Venge’s eyes. “I look forward to the lesson, Master.”

Tachi grinned. “Maybe we should just pass around a sign-up sheet.”

Venge shook his head. “Please, let us limit this to one insane project at a time.”

“You mention Bane a lot,” Dravaco said, jumping into the break in conversation. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Aside from the fact that most of the Order’s current difficulties can be placed at his feet?” Venge asked with a raised eyebrow. “One does have to respect the sheer gall inherent in all of his machinations. Bane laid the foundation for the Order’s destruction a thousand years ago, knowing that he would not live long enough to see his goal realized. He is the reason we considered a Sith prophecy to be one of our own.”

“Abhin Sal-Tur’s Prophecy of the Chosen One,” Kurri said. That answered Herssella’s question as to which prophecy was being referred to. “It is telling that the Prophecy’s true author has not been revealed to the Order at large.”

Venge smiled. That was the most disturbing thing, to Herssella’s eyes. His smiles held too much dark humor for one who was so angry. “Those who need to know, do. For now, it is judged that speaking of such a thing may do more harm than good, especially with the threat of Sidious looming over us. It was the Reconciliation Council’s decision; do not blame me,” Venge continued, when the Bo twins looked to be opening their mouths to protest.

“Bane is also a Sith whose identity we are certain of, while the rest of his line is all but unknown to us. He fought Jedi after the Seventh Battle of Ruusan, and those Jedi documented his identity by holo and written description, as well as his original name. It was the Morous IV Library’s rabid insistence upon documenting _everything_ that allowed us to discover his deceit, years after he had presumably been killed.” Venge tilted his head, as if considering the matter. “Perhaps there is something to be respected in his actions, but that doesn’t mean I am fond of him. As a general rule, I do not like people who make my life needlessly difficult.”

“What happened to him, then?” Vos asked.

“He’s not on the list of Sith known to be spiritually present on Korriban. There’s just an empty tomb that bears his name,” Tholme said in response. Herssella blinked up at the man in surprise. She had not noticed his arrival, which was irritating. “It’s one of the only buildings on that forsaken world that a Jedi can enter and not expect to be eaten by some vile Sith creature.”

“He’s not anywhere else, either.” Venge seemed amused by the immediate return of their collective attention. “When Zannah defeated her Master, she forced Bane directly through the gray place. Thus, Bane was not able to connect himself with his constructed tomb, and passed on into history.”

“How do you know that?” Grierseer asked. “Hell, I never realized we knew his apprentice’s name!”

Venge smiled. “Perhaps it is time for you all to meet Darth Zannah.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Republic Date 5201: 3/25th

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

“How was Kashyyyk?”

Qui-Gon allowed Rillian to steal his pack for transfer to their quarters. If he didn’t, she was liable to stare at him in dismay until he handed it over, anyway. “It was a worthwhile visit.”

“Congratulations on your successful _hrrtayyk_ ,” Mace then said to Rillian, who smiled at the praise. “You realize this means we are now allowed to drop more responsibility onto your shoulders.”

[Everyone keeps telling me I’m the next Tyvokka,] Rillian grumbled. [It can’t be any worse than _that._ Er. Master,] she said, realizing a moment later that Mace Windu’s greeting was an official one.

Mace inclined his head, granting her a pass. “Master Jinn, a short review of the situation with the Council is called for.”

Qui-Gon nodded. He had expected such a thing. It had only been the necessity of Rillian’s _hrrtayyk_ that had kept them from being ordered directly home. “I assume you mean now.”

“I do. Padawans, you are free to join us, or you may return to your quarters.”

Anakin frowned. “Is there anything new that we’ve missed?”

Mace let his Councilor’s mask slip enough to smile. “No, Padawan Skywalker. Not unless it’s happened to the three of you.”

“Then I’ll take a pass, Master Windu. C’mon, Rillian. We can go order lunch.”

Rillian’s expression brightened at the thought of food, but she still asked, [Do you need us, Master?]

“Go on, Rillian. I should be joining you in about thirty minutes,” Qui-Gon said, and waved his hand in the direction of the turbolifts. Both Padawans darted off without further encouragement needed.

Qui-Gon turned to his companion the moment they were out of sight. “You could have just sent word, Mace.”

“I know,” Mace replied, and led the way towards the second exit out of the hangar bay, one closest to a moving walkway that ran directly to the central spire of the Temple. “I wanted to speak to you of other things before the rest of the Council got involved.”

“A full meeting?”

Mace’s expression turned hard. “It would be a full Council just for the discovery that one of our own was still alive. But for it to be a Jedi who is also Fallen? No; we are in agreement that we should all know as much about the situation as possible.”

Once they were in the privacy of a turbolift, Mace leaned against the wall. “I am also pleased to be able to say that your Lifemate hasn’t killed anyone yet, though Tholme is making pointed comments about repairs to the Cathedral.”

Qui-Gon grimaced. He still didn’t want to know. “Are we going to put a kill order on her name?”

“So far, that is not the direction the Council is leaning towards,” Mace said, surprising him. “I know. It was a strange moment for me, too. I fear for Depa, but her actions may have given us a new mindset towards Fallen Jedi, and their potential for rehabilitation.”

“As long as this new attitude lasts longer than A Drop of Fire does,” Qui-Gon replied.

Mace sighed. “That will be the trick.”

The Council meeting was short, to Qui-Gon’s relief. There was nothing new he could tell them about Komari and the Bando Gora, beyond his suspicion that the Bando Gora had been sent to test them. For what, and why, he had no idea, and an attempt at speculation was cut short by T’ra Saa.

“There is no point until we have more information,” she said. Her gentle expression eased some of Even Piell’s obvious disgruntlement.

With that, there had been a short review of the preceding days’ events, mostly held for Qui-Gon’s benefit. He left the Chamber just ten minutes beyond the time he’d given to the Padawans. So far, the job of being a Councilor’s stand-in was not nearly as terrible as he had once feared.

He still didn’t want the damned seat, though.

Qui-Gon returned to his quarters to find Anakin and Rillian seated at the comm station. “I’m pretty sure the Wookiees might have gotten Master Qui-Gon a tad drunk, but he won’t admit it.”

[My father’s homebrew is _very_ good,] Rillian said with a grin.

“Unless he fell down, he will never admit to it,” Venge’s voice said in reply.

“Inebriated and drunk are not the same thing,” Qui-Gon said, walking into pickup range of the comm. “Hello, love.”

“Hello. It seems my timing was good, after all,” Venge said. “I was calling to congratulate your Padawan on her completed _hrrtayyk_.”

“And yet, you called our quarters first.” Qui-Gon’s comm hadn’t given any sort of signal that he’d missed a message. “Are you spying on us via the Temple rosters?”

“Er…no.” Venge hesitated. “You may have a number of calls listed on this comm. I wasn’t going to get any sort of rest until—” his voice broke mid-sentence, “—until I knew that all of you were safely home.”

Qui-Gon glanced at his Padawans, and knew he sported a similar worried expression. “Bad dreams?” he asked.

“Dumb Sith holocrons?” Anakin suggested.

“Dreams. Maybe,” Venge said. “And yes, I am _fine_. Just tired. Anakin, do you have an idea of when you will be presenting your findings to the Council?”

Anakin bit his lip. “Uhm…yeah. Give me a couple of days to sort everything back into presentation order instead of long form, and I should be good to go.”

“Two days, then. I will make certain to be available.”

Anakin smiled, looking relieved. “Thanks, Master. You think you can sleep, now that you know we’re all alive and not space-paste somewhere?”

“Perhaps,” Venge allowed. “May I have a moment alone with your other Master, Padawans?”

[Sure,] Rillian answered, though she still seemed worried about Venge. [We’ll talk to you later.]

“Yeah, what she said. Take care, Master,” Anakin said. He dithered over the comm for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but finally changed his mind.

When both Padawans had returned to the kitchen for meal-prep, Qui-Gon sat down in front of the terminal. “How are you, truly?”

“I was being honest. At the moment, I am exhausted but not otherwise failing.”

Qui-Gon placed his hands on the desktop and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “And yet I notice you are not taking advantage of this terminal’s capacity for visual communication.”

Venge made a noise that might have been a faint laugh. “Exhaustion does not usually improve one’s appearance, Qui.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I’ve missed hearing you call me that.”

“Then I shall try to remember to do so more often.”

“But don’t think that allows you to escape without me commenting on your sudden vanity,” Qui-Gon teased.

“It is less vanity and more ensuring that I do not incite you to panic,” Venge returned in a dry voice. “I’m sure MonMassa has other things to worry about than you demanding medical updates from her all the time. I’d prefer you didn’t, by the way.”

“Why?” Qui-Gon asked, all trace of amusement drying up like a drop of water trying to dampen a cracked desert floor.

“I don’t wish you to worry any more than you already will,” Venge replied in a quiet voice. “I will tell you if it gets dire, but in the meantime, let’s stick with the fact that we’re both aware that this is awful, and not bother with details.”

Qui-Gon felt his heart seize in phantom pain. The tone of his voice, the speech pattern—what he was hearing was almost pure Obi-Wan. “I’ll try and restrain myself.”

“Good,” Venge said, and even one word was enough for Qui-Gon to hear how much of the Sith had crept right back into Obi-Wan’s place. The long delay before his next words confirmed it. “I love you.”

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers along the blank vidscreen. “I love you, too.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Darth Zannah stared out at the gathering of Jedi Shadows. The Shadows stared back. When five minutes had ticked by and Zannah said nothing, disconcerted expressions began to morph into curiosity.

All expressions, that is, except for Tachi…and for Gyre. “She’s not real,” the Sullustan said.

“I am real enough for you, baby Shadow,” Zannah returned in a smooth voice.

“But you’re not,” Gyre said, his eyes half-shut in confusion. “I don’t understand, but I know you’re not the real thing.”

“Of course she’s not real,” Dravaco retorted. “She’s just a program.”

Venge eyed Dravaco, but said nothing. Instead, he re-ordered his plans for the proceeding days’ teachings in recognition of what would soon be needed. “Zannah?”

“It is always so amusing when you ask for my input,” the holocron replied. “I do not think your original plan is going to work.”

“No,” Venge agreed. “I do not think it will.” He removed the second holocron from its hiding place inside the desk, and placed it next to its twin. The pyramid unfolded, revealing an exact holoprojected copy of Darth Zannah.

“Son of a—” Breegin whispered.

“Bitch,” Greegor finished, wide-eyed. “Er, no offense.”

The twin projections gave the Bo twins identical smirks. “You should take—” the first holocron began.

“—more care in how you speak to us.” The second holocron looked at her copy. “Go back to sleep,” Zannah said, and the first holocron shut down without protest.

“That is creepy as hell,” Fieff said.

“For once, I agree with you completely.” Fa’an rested her chin on her clasped hands. “A real Sith holocron, and a fake.”

“Technically, they are both real,” Venge said, which caused Kurri to lift her head in surprise. “The difference between them is detectable due to empathic resonance.”

Gyre shook his head. “I’m not rated as an empath.”

“You should be re-tested,” Venge told him. “It is possible to learn to tell the difference between a true holocron and a false one, but a high-rated empath will always know on first sight.”

“If they are both technically real holocrons, then what is the actual difference between them?” Kurri asked. “I can’t tell a difference between the two holocrons at all, whether they are active or disabled.”

Venge ran his fingers along the outside edge of the closed pyramid, refusing to flinch when he felt the prick of a tiny needle. The remaining traps in the fake were not even remotely capable of harming him. “At one time, the Order had true Sith holocrons locked in the vaults. Over the centuries, the Sith of Bane’s line snuck into the Temple and replaced the true holocrons with false ones, copies so exacting in detail and programming that the theft was never noticed.”

He picked up Zannah’s active holocron, setting it on the uppermost edge of the lectern. It gave Zannah an unrestricted view of all the gathered Shadows. “This is not a program. This is Darth Zannah. Her holocron is linked directly to her tomb on Korriban.”

Grierseer’s silver eyes were huge; she was not the only one expressing some form of horror. “They can _do_ that?”

“It would be a shameful lack of foresight on our part if the Sith did not create a means for us to travel beyond the bounds of our tombs,” Zannah said in a scathing tone. “You must stop thinking like a fool, and start thinking like a _hunter._ ”

After a long pause, Skaalka shook her head. “Now two Sith. Hope she nicer than you.”

Venge smiled. “I suppose that will depend upon your point of view.” The Trandoshan Master’s words also served to nudge the Shadows back into the proper headspace. He needed them questioning and suspicious and brilliant, not jumpy and stymied.

Zannah turned her head to regard Venge. “You realize that most of them are going to die.”

Venge did not rise to the obvious bait. “The future is always in motion.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, lady,” Fieff said, irritated.

Zannah returned her attention to the Shadows. To Venge’s surprise, she didn’t mock Fieff. “I am not talking about your lack of skill. If Lord Venge has allowed you to come this far in these lessons, you all have the potential for greatness.”

Venge shifted in place. He really disliked it when Zannah called him by full title. It reminded him of things he would rather forget.

Fieff grimaced. “Fair enough. Then what do you mean?”

“My observation is based on the reality of the situation. There are very few who have the strength and resilience to stand up to Sidious, and even they fear to confront him directly.”

“Fear is the wrong word entirely,” Venge said in a flat voice.

“So you say,” Zannah said; it seemed she was reserving her mocking for him. Zannah’s expression shifted, becoming sly. “Some of you have the adaptability to become stronger. Some of you do not.”

Then again, perhaps there was something to be said for the fact that Zannah called him by title, but often refused to grant Sidious the same. “What our ally does not say is that we have no real way to determine who is in what category,” Venge said. “That will only be revealed by time and training…and by who survives.”

“That’s a grim point of view,” Gyre muttered.

“But accurate,” Kurri said. “I am all for the power of positive thinking, my friend, but we must be realistic. This journey may well end in _all_ our deaths, with Sidious still undefeated.”

“Are you actually our ally?” Dravaco asked, giving the holocron a narrow-eyed glare that was full of the suspicion that Venge hoped for. He liked Zannah, for given values of like, but trusting the Sith was a terrible idea.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Zannah said, smiling. “You will have to trust that my intentions towards Sidious align with your own.”

“Why should we?” Fa’an’s voice was flat, her body language uninterested. “I have heard nothing that would convince me that you mean us anything but harm.”

“She’s currently our ally because Sidious is a sexist fuckwit who treated Zannah like a novelty, not like the Sith Lady she actually _is_ ,” Tachi explained, with sparks of anger in her eyes.

“Ah.” Kurri looked at Zannah. “I understand. It isn’t that you don’t want to see Bane’s work become reality. It’s only that you do not want _Sidious_ to be its instigator.”

Fieff snorted. “Does Sidious know that you’ve temporarily turned traitor?”

Zannah gave him a look of cool dismissal. “No. If you are wise, you will help me to keep it that way.”

“Why? Sidious can’t hurt you. You’re _dead,”_ Fa’an said.

“He could destroy the tomb that anchors me to this reality.” Zannah’s polite mask dropped away, revealing the cold-eyed Sith underneath. “You are in no position to discard potential allies because you disagree with their philosophy, Jedi. Learn that lesson _now_ , and perhaps you will succeed in defeating Sidious.”

“What about that damned spy? Would he know?” Gyre asked. “If we don’t know when he’s hanging about…”

“I know when we are being spied upon,” Zannah said. Venge gritted his teeth; that would explain why there had been times when she had refused to respond to the summoning sigils, or a conversation was shorter than made sense.

“There are two ways to find one who is hidden. I know one of them.”

“Unless you are a Neti, I assume,” Venge ground out. It might have saved him time and trouble for her to have mentioned that before. It wouldn’t help for Neti-hunting, but all information was useful.

“Neti are different,” Zannah replied, smirking at him.

Kurri cleared her throat. “As much as my _philosophy_ disagrees with this, I must ask: Can you teach us to see what is hidden?”

Zannah’s smile widened into a positively gleeful grin. “You wish to learn blood magic, then?”

Venge had the impression that Kurri was not hesitating so much as thinking it through. “I suppose that would depend upon the nature of the sacrifice that was called for.”

“Kurri!” Herssella hissed. “I was going to ask first!”

“Well?” Kurri stared at Zannah.

“Oh, I like this group.” Zannah’s projection did a graceful pirouette. “They have such potential!”

“Okay, now that just became the most bizarre thing I’ve seen today,” Vos muttered.

“It depends,” Zannah said, sobering. “How much of your soul do you dare to darken, Jedi?”

“I don’t have any way to know that, do I?” Kurri returned. “Until the first time I feel what it is like, I won’t understand what it will do to me because I won’t have experienced it.”

Herssella was shaking her head in something akin to agitation. “I am a bird of _prey_ ,” she emphasized. “No matter how civilized the galaxy wishes me to be, I want to hunt, and I want to see blood run from my talons. Tell us what is required. We are capable of deciding for ourselves what we are willing to risk.”

“Blood fuels the magic,” Zannah said. “Do not flinch at the terminology, Yuri Dravaco. Even we Sith call our arts magic when science has never been able to explain them. A small death will power a spell for a short time. Larger deaths, sentient deaths—deaths driven by _fear_ —those will power large magics for a very long time.”

“And the fact that you can still sense the presence of someone hiding implies that you used the deaths of many,” Kurri said, leaning back in her seat. “Sentients in fear, I would guess.”

“Yes,” Zannah agreed. “It will sound unlikely, but I was not even the instrument of their deaths. I only took advantage of the situation to use their fate for my own ends.”

“If we believe you—and I do mean _if_ —then who or what caused so many deaths?” Gyre asked. The Sullustan had adopted the pose of a crecheling listening to bedtime stories, which was bizarre given the circumstances.

Zannah offered him a nasty grin. “My apprentice, Darth Cognus, had a bloodthirsty heart. When she had failed to defeat me in combat for the third time, she took her wrath out on a nearby village. Once the Huntress was done, there was nothing left.”

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, me,” Grierseer whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. “That’s the Slaughter of Old Fjo kn Naaj. Two thousand people were wiped out overnight. They always thought some roving band of mercenaries did it. Thanks to the dry climate of Naaj VII, it’s been a well-preserved ghost town ever since.”

“You have been there,” Zannah observed. “Does it still invoke bad dreams?”

“It did for me,” Grierseer admitted. “My Master thought I was just reacting to the old stories, but I did not sleep well for the entire week we spent there.”

Zannah was silent for a moment. “Do not perform blood magic, Jaime Grierseer. You are too sensitive to the things it leaves behind, and would lose your mind in the process. Find your strength in other areas.”

Grierseer looked relieved. “Ni-Dia Kurri,” Zannah continued. “I do not know if you will be capable. Your binary brain makes you often hunt for logic even when there is none to be found, and Sith magics have little to do with the natural order. Witness your compatriot, first.”

Zannah looked at the Rishii. “Herssella Grinn, try it with one small thing that you have hunted for. Lord Venge will be able to direct you in the appropriate sigils.”

Venge scowled at her, and knew every bit of his rage was burning in his eyes. “It must _not_ come from me!” Zannah snapped in response. “Else he will know, and your entire venture will be for nothing!”

“You know how to do such a thing?” Grierseer’s voice was quiet, but Venge could see the question mirrored on many faces.

“I have _read_ how to do it,” Venge clarified. The deactivated holocron was trembling in place. He clenched his hand into a fist, driving his fingernails into his palm as he kept the power from striking out. The holocron stilled. “I never had reason to use any of it.”

“So, I’m going to blatantly change the subject here,” Vos spoke up. “I want to hear what a Lady Sith has to say about the whole ‘stinking Sith’ thing. I was the one who got to deal with Darth Maul’s body, and let me tell you, that fucker reeked before decomposition had a chance to get near him. Is that a Sith trait that all of you guys share, or just a lucky few?”

Venge felt an involuntary smile tug at his lips. The anger did not fade, but the intense pressure to use it was eased by Quinlan’s timely intervention. “Vos, are you trying to surreptitiously ask why I do not smell bad?”

Zannah was amused. “Quinlan Vos, your teacher understands the nature of bathing on a regular basis. However: the foul odor can be found among those Sith who neglect their health in favor of their own power. Corruption will rot a body from within. The old Sith knew that there was a balance to be struck. Cognus and I followed those teachings, in recognition that care of the vessel of self is required for longevity. Sidious relies on his cloned bodies instead, and thus never taught Maul the idea of balance.”

Zannah tilted her head, as if listening. “I must go. Your spy is near, and I have no idea if hiding is his only talent.” The holocron shut down, folding up and taking the strange chill of the ancient Sith’s presence with it.

Venge caught Tachi’s eye before shooing the other Shadows out of the room. “Go fuck off for a while. I am just about at the limit of my tolerance for other beings. I will show you and Kurri the appropriate images later,” he said to Herssella.

Once the room was empty, Venge collected the holocrons, storing them in two different belt pouches. He didn’t think the spy had entered the room, but there was no sense in leaving tempting targets out for their guest to find.

Venge sat down on top of the desk that faced the hall. “I take it you found the Shillanis this morning.”

Tachi didn’t look amused. She was standing with her arms crossed over her breasts, her entire body language radiating standoffish stubbornness. “You sprinkled it on my wrist chrono, you ass.”

Venge gave her a searching look. “You do not like the potential for dismissal that you believe you carry.”

Tachi scowled at him. It seemed he had guessed correctly, after all. If Fire was not gnawing away, begging for his attention, Venge thought it might have caused him a pang of sadness.

“No. I _don’t_.”

Venge shook his head. “Siri, any being worthy of your time will not be fool enough to think you incapable. You are quite the opposite of incapable. You are so damned capable that your Master fears your skills will lead you to an early death, and it will have nothing to do with a failing on your part.”

If anything, her temper flared higher. “Is that supposed to be a pep talk?”

“Tachi, I had to fight for my apprenticeship every damned step of the way. You did not see it, but that does not mean that there were not a thousand difficulties in the path before Qui-Gon and I had even spent a single day in each other’s company. Even after that point, the difficulties did not stop for a long time.

“Master Gallia _chose you_ the first moment she saw you. She did not require any troll-like manipulation or extraordinary circumstances. Then, at the end of your apprenticeship, Boda MonMassa asked you to become a Shadow before you even saw the Trials. There are only three Shadows in our recorded history who were asked to join before their Knightings, and one of them may one day be your own apprentice. If that does not also speak of your worth, then I do not know what will.”

The scowl lessened. “I…maybe.”

Venge had to grit his teeth against a terrible flare of rage. He couldn’t lose his temper with Tachi, not at this moment. “Siri. The kind of anger you carry in your heart is self-defeating. You _must_ learn to let this go. There are always going to be fuckers out there who will look down upon you for your gender, your height, your beauty. You have the ability to prove them wrong with one hand tied behind your back, without even tapping into the Force. Allow yourself to understand that _we_ will not, and you will easily become one of the best of us.”

“So let’s say I get rid of that particular anger. Then what the hell do I use against Shillanis?” Tachi asked, planting her hands on her hips. “You’re taking one weapon away, and not giving me a replacement, Skinny Butt.”

“Restructure it,” Venge suggested. “Your anger is currently tainted by your fear of discovering that your doubters are correct. Stop fearing that they are; they are _not_. Instead, base your anger upon the ignorance that allows such an attitude to persist.”

Tachi’s expression melted into realization. “Oh. I get it. Anger at an idea, at an actual form of _injustice.”_

“And not at yourself, or any specific person,” Venge said, pleased that she had grasped the concept so quickly. It gave him hope for the others. “Anger caused by injustice can still be manipulated, but not nearly as easily.”

Tachi was smiling. “All right. I can do that. Now what?”

“Now I need to go blow something the hell up,” Venge returned, and bit his lip until he drew blood as another upswell of rage nearly caused him to curl up on himself. It didn’t just burn. It _hurt._ “That’s new,” he gasped.

Tachi had him off the desk, supporting him with one of his arms thrown over her shoulders, before he was quite aware of what was happening. “Outside, or your quarters?” she asked in a terse voice.

“Not going to make it that far,” he bit out. Not in either direction. “The cathedral.”

Siri didn’t ask further questions; she just helped him leave the lecture hall, taking some of his weight when his knees tried to give out. He was still walking under his own power, but not for long. It was a moment’s temptation to stop her, to spill out Fire’s excess into the old commissary, but the room did not need that kind of influence.

Venge dropped to his knees the moment they crossed the threshold into the vast room that fronted the Shadows’ complex, the cathedral that gave the complex its name. “The room’s clear,” Siri told him.

“Get back,” he whispered, gratified when Siri retreated into the central corridor without protest. The power welled up from his core, spreading out and trying to escape from any point possible. It felt distressingly like Force Drain, but this was not thievery, this was _Fire._

Venge let out the rage in a gout of flame. The fire was so hot it only burned orange at the edge, a curled blossom that grew to horrific proportions. The cathedral filled with heat and searing blue, turning everything within it to ash in moments.

He fell backwards the moment the fire was spent, feeling like all of his strength had just been ripped from his body. He sucked in a breath, and it tasted of burnt stone, hot metal, and melted plastine.

“Fuck, I hope we didn’t need anything that was in those storage crates,” Siri said, venturing close. “Can I touch you?”

Venge managed a nod. Siri’s hand came down on his arm, a gentle press of reassurance that was as welcome as it was irritating. He heard footsteps, running boots, and then two more Shadows came near.

“Damn, you turned this place into an oven,” Quinlan said.

“Finally _warm_.” Skaalka’s voice was a purr of pleasure. “Is all right?”

“Still alive, thanks,” Venge muttered.

“I notice you’re still lying on the floor, though,” Siri pointed out.

Venge groaned and sat up, feeling his head spin. Vomiting did not sound optimal, not when he already felt so wretched, so he quashed the nausea as best he could.

He opened his eyes to see the stone walls were blackened in a solid sheet that almost reached the ceiling. Some of the lights had been blown out by the heat. Others flickered in such a way that said they might soon die, as well. The durasteel floor glowed a dull red at the far end of the room, where the fire had burned the hottest.

“That was _not_ normal,” Siri said in a sharp tone that didn’t hide the worry underneath.

Venge coughed, sudden and painful. It was not much of a surprise to see a faint puff of smoke emerge, or to discover that his hand was flecked with blood when he drew it away from his mouth.

Siri took hold of his elbow. “It is so totally bacta time for you. Skaalka! Get over here. Pick his skinny butt up and cart him to medical before he has a chance to find a bolt-hole!”

“I am _completely capable_ of walking on my own—” Venge growled back, and then damn near fell right back to the floor when his legs wouldn’t support him. Skaalka caught him by the folds of his tunics before he could collapse.

“Believe you,” the Trandoshan said in a cheerful voice, before unceremoniously tossing him over her shoulder and walking down the hall.

“The next time we spar, I am going to turn you into _paste_ ,” Venge snarled, furious and too damned weak to do anything about it. Shillanis on everything she owned. Spikes and poison and thrice-damned _needles_!

“Sound fun!” Skaalka returned. “Bring you present!” she shouted at the Healers.

“I don’t like the look of it. Send it back,” Venge heard Ra’um-Ve say, and then further compounded the indignity by passing out.

**Author's Note:**

> Next part is done and will be posted next Friday. Stay tuned at the same Bat...time......channel...
> 
> That saying is really out of date, isn't it?


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